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Halfway there with her drooping over his shoulder, he had to stop and take a breather in one of the narrow side streets that smelled of piss and shit, as well as rotten corpses with bodies strewn everywhere. Eyes locked on a woman that had had her chest cracked open, he could see the agonized look on her face as she had died, and felt a touch of pity for her. Not because she had been killed, but because she had not had the chance to defend herself. Only cowards, weaklings, and mudsaps killed the unarmed.

Heart pulsing with rage at the despicable thought, he adjusted the girl on his shoulder to get a better position, when her eyes flickered open, and she headbutted him.

Dazed as he fell back a step, he heard her footsteps scamper back down the alleyway, heard the shouts and screams behind him, and despite his best efforts to turn away. He chased after her, paused to pick up a shortsword that lay in the hands of a dead man that had half his face cut off, before he barrelled out into the open. The girl, as he had half expected, backed up into a corner of a smithy with grinning men all around her, laughing as she attacked them, their blades cutting gouges in her body.

Scowling at the way they played with her, he charged across the pavements, and in a burst of adrenaline thrust his blade up through the back of a man’s neck. His gurgling cries of shock as he died, breaking the sudden stillness as the men turned on him.

Gazes wild with a dangerous kind of madness, they came at Gregor, scarring his cheek, neck, and shoulder. Cutting him half dozen times as he was surrounded by these tall darkly tanned men in black armor that carried crows embossed on their chests.

With only a moment to curse himself for his stupidity, he felt something burn across his shoulders, and screamed. Roaring angrily at the fiery pain, he blacked out for a moment, and then in the next second, he was there, and not there. It was like he was watching his own body fight with a savage fury he had never seen before, biting fingers that got too close to him, clawing at faces with his nails, and hacking at limbs like a woodcutter.

Then, as if awakening from a deep slumber, he looked all around him, and saw that everyone was dead, ripped apart by a wild animal, and felt a chill cold as he realized that it had been him that had killed them all.

Staring off at something behind him, the girl seemed to grow pale, her lips drained of all blood, when he slowly turned around, and found a young man impaled on his sword. Standing behind Gregor, holding the sword that had come in at an angle up into his belly, the boy gazed down at Gregor with startling blue eyes wide, when the girl began to scream,“No! Valan!”...

Gasping for air at the memory, he dragged his gaze away from her, and walked to the front door. And couldn’t help but think, Gods, had that been him? He had known that he fell into blind rages sometimes, but nothing like this. Before, when he would blackout, he’d remember bits and pieces of what he had done, and at the time he had seemed in control. But this, this changed everything, had made him seem more like a puppet instead.

Head still shaking from the vivid memory, he pulled back the bolt that held the door shut, and strode out into the sunlight. Before he let out a dry chuckle as he realized he could have just as easily walked through the large gaping hole.

Caught in a mixture of disbelief and denial, Gauldryon chose that moment to miraculously appear at his side, his golden hair slick with sweat as he looked up at the flurries of snowflakes that dissipated in the air above them. “You still wished to know why Khorasan sent us after you?”

Head nodded mutely in reply.

Gauldryon, his skin glistening in the suns, and armor glowing with magic, smiled, “In truth, we need your help, Gregor, and you need ours. There is someone at Dragon’s perch that we must meet see together.”